


Canttu Ka Heat

by landrews



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst and Humor, Case Fic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landrews/pseuds/landrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia's accidentally in heat, what's a boy to do? Angel tries to control his impulses, while Wesley thinks hired help might be just the ticket to help Cordelia through her crises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Season One- set between “She” and “I've Got You Under My Skin”
> 
> Written for 2009 Stranger Things St. Valentine's Day Smut-A-Thon for Gabriella's Prompt: Demon blood (whether another's or her own is up to the writer) sends Cordelia's libido into overdrive. Angel ends up being the beneficiary

 

 

Cordelia sighed and stretched. She rolled over onto her belly, limbs languid and warm. Her bed felt comfy. Just right. And that was the complete opposite of the thought she usually had every morning when she woke, stiff and cranky. She pushed her hands down and lifted herself up, frowning down at her sheet and mattress. Her fingers sunk half an inch, her wrists straining at their odd angle. Oh, yeah.

She sunk back down, groaning with pleasure. When Angel handed her an unexpected two hundred dollars in cash that morning, she'd impulsively stopped at Ultimate Beds and bought a combination memory foam and goosedown mattress topper. She piled the price of the high-thread count sheets that would stretch over it all onto her credit card. She had closed her eyes when she signed the receipt and gotten through the sale just fine.

Ahhhh... she stroked the sheets. Her belly warmed. She shifted. The thin cotton of her tank rubbed across her hardened nipples. Mmmm.

The phone rang. Cordelia sighed. It chirped again. Dennis lifted it and floated it to her as she fought inertia and sat up. She took it and tried to say 'hello' but it was a poor excuse of a non-syllable that filled her throat. A grunt really.

“Cordelia?” Angel said, already sounding worried.

“Mother Hen, much?” she said, sorta.

“Are you...”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I'm fine. Need coffee.”

“I'll just...”

“No, no, no. I'm coming in. You want mocha?”

“Um, yes? Wes is...”

“Yeah, yeah, got him covered.”

“Are you sure?”

Cordy lifted her left arm to look at the pretty stitch work the ER doc sewed into it that morning. “Yes, Angel. It doesn't even hurt.”

“Oh. Okay,” Angel said, although obviously _he_ wasn't okay.

“See you,” she said, and hung up. Easing the gauze square up, she squinted at the slice across the outside of her bicep. It looked like eleven black stitches over a ten-day old scar. “Huh. That can't be good.”

*

Out on Los Feliz Boulevard, two boys in a convertible whistled at her and asked what her secret was and she had tossed her head back and answered, 'Life!' as she floored her Jeep and pulled away from them on the green. Pulling into the last spot in front of The Coffee Bean, Cordy felt good, more than good. She felt slinky and strong.

She strode into the shop and two of the four guys in line were cute enough to proposition, not that she would, considering her recent experience with that dumbass Wilson and his stupid hellspawn. She laid her hand on her flat stomach, reassuring herself that it was just as flat and toned as it had been before that foolishness. Nope, no touching for her, well, except for her. She could definitely appreciate the wares, though. 

She flashed a smile at Cutie Number Two as he looked idly around the shop, waiting on his order. He was tall and blonde and had the plumpest lips a man could have and still look kissable. Cordy licked her own lips. The man's deep set hazel eyes widened, and he cocked his head, in a funny little 'are you looking at me' way that was just adorable. A little sizzle ran down her spine and bloomed inside. She straightened her shoulders and tucked her chin down a bit, so she could look up at him through her lashes. 

“Decaf, double soy latte,” the barrista barked. 

Cutie broke eye contact with her and reached for his coffee. A tiny brunette with a pixie cut whipped past him and snagged it up. “Thanks, Danny, are you ready?”

Cordy was slightly mollified when he hesitated, looking back to her. She shrugged, projecting 'your loss, buddy' hard enough that Pixie Cut had to tug on his shirt to get him moving. Cordy grinned and turned to watch the barrista and his lickilicious biceps work the expresso machine. 

*

Neither Angel nor Wes were in sight when she sailed through the door and floated into reception. “Just me,” she called.

There came a scrabbling, the thud of something falling, and Angel appeared in his office doorway. Cordy's breath caught and her feet stopped. It's remarkable, she thought, how you can forget how pretty someone is when you work with them everyday. And since he was an absolute no bone, she had forgotten how pretty he was. Until now. He gave her a tentative smile.

“Are you...”

“Fine,” she said, clenching her teeth and unsticking her feet. Oh, yeah, now she remembered what an old man he could be. Unattractive trait, that was, and it definitely countered his other, more... appealing traits... Cordy wondered if his eyes had always been that deep or if...

“Cordy,” Angel said, a question in his voice. He took the tray of coffees from her, their fingers brushing, his skin asking what it could do for hers.

She shook her head.

He slid the tray onto her desk and reached for her, curling one arm around her lower back, tugging her into him, supporting her. First touching her face, and then dipping his hand into the hollow of her neck, his fingers became a faint pressure on her jugular. He didn't look at her. He was listening, comparing her pulse and her heartbeat, taking his measure of her from the distance between them. 

Closing her eyes, Cordy arched against him and stretched her neck, her hands falling onto his chest. 

Angel let her go. She opened her eyes. He now stood a good four feet away, a frown marring his perfect features.

“You're hot,” he said.

“Mmm,” she said, and plucked his coffee up. She held it out, offering it to him if he would only come and get it. “So are you.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

Cody laughed. “It's okay, Angel, I just meant I forget how good looking you are, that's how completely off limits you are to me. I just happened to...notice...today.”

She waggled the coffee at him. “I got you unadulterated, organic Columbian. No mocha, no whipped, no stuff gunking it up.”

“Thanks,” he said and cautiously came forward and took it from her.

Bringing a rush of sound and energy into the room, Wesley slammed in from the outside stairwell. “Cordelia,” he cried. “You brought coffee!”

He bustled to the chair by the desk, dropped the books and paper he was carrying, and turned to accept his drink from her. She had never noticed how blue his eyes were before. And bright. And he looked really appealing when he crinkled his nose at her like that, his eyes narrowing, his lips... oh. He looked... not happy. “Are you feeling quite yourself, Cordelia?”

“I feel...” attracted to you. She turned and looked at Angel. His skin practically glowed. And to him. “No. I feel really, really...” horny. That couldn't be good. And then she remembered thinking the same thing about the cut on her arm. “Oh! look at this,” she said, and stripped off her sweater.

“Cordelia,” they both said at the same time, Wesley sounding dismayed while Angel seemed alarmed.

She rolled her eyes, dropped her sweater on the desk, and pulled at the gauze square. “Look- isn't this weird?” She glanced up, but both of them were looking at the completely healed cut under its neat line of sutures. Angel's hair smelled good. She wanted to run her fingers through it, feel the gelled stiffness of it dissolve into softness, grip it while he...

“Whoa, back off,” she snapped and took a big step away, clapping the gauze back down.

Endangering his coffee, Wesley lifted both hands like he was being robbed at gunpoint.

Angel merely frowned at her. Again. “She's hot to the touch.”

Wesley's brows rose in open speculation. “Is that so?” And how would you know, his face clearly said.

“He's right,” Cordy admitted. “I am. Like fever hot. I think I need to go home, actually.”

“I don't think you should be alone, Cordelia, until we figure this out.”

“What's to figure? I'm running at peak efficiency, obviously,” she said, waving her arm up and down.

“Do you know if the Canttu Ka's blood mixed with yours?”

Cordy looked at Angel. With a frighting, predatory stillness, he was staring at the gauze square on her arm. “Um, probably. Angel sliced its head off just after it clawed me. There was blood everywhere.”

“It fell on her.”

Wesley turned to Angel. His shoulders tightened and his cheeks hardened, as he took in Angel's stance. “What?”

“The Canttu Ka's body fell on her,” he said, his voice seeming to grate out of his tight throat. “She was drenched in its blood.”

Wesley looked back at her for confirmation. She shrugged, her attention on the way Angel's shirt draped over his tense shoulder muscles, the way the collar stood open, revealing the sensual rise of his collar bone. “I had to throw out my favorite DKNY blouse,” she murmured, wishing she could throw out all Angel's shirts for good. It wasn't like he actually needed clothes. A heavy ache crept into her belly, and she could actually feel the rush of her blood downward. Angel's gaze dropped and she closed her eyes against the throb that visual caress caused between her legs. 

“I think I need a cold shower,” she stammered. “Angel?”

He nodded, but didn't move. 

Not strong enough to resist completely, Cordy brushed past him to get to the elevator. He didn't try to avoid her, let her touch him without flinching. As their arms met, he opened his hand to let his palm and finger tips slide across hers as she passed. She shivered.

 

***

They waited in silence. When the elevator ground to a halt and the door slid back in Angel's apartment with its familiar clank, Angel finally blinked and looked up from his study of the tile on the office floor. 

“You know what this is?” he asked.

Wesley nodded. He remembered the coffee in his hand and set it down on the desk, beside Cordy's discarded sweater and the tray still holding her untouched latte. “I believe I do. The chances though- this is extremely rare, Angel. Most scholars dismiss these effects as Canttu Ka myths, a way to deal with the human dominance of their territo--”

“Wesley!”

“Oh, sorry. Um, let's see,” Wesley hurried into Angel's office, Angel trailing him, and searched the titles in Angel's pitifully inadequate book shelf.

“Wesley.”

Wesley turned at the impatience he heard in Angel's tone. He was still standing in the doorway, obviously frustrated with Wesley's lack of response. Wesley cast a glance back towards the books. No help there, really, anyway. “Okay,” he said, heaving in a deep breath. “Okay.” He took another fortifying breath.

Angel opened his mouth.

Wesley said, “You might say that Cordy's in heat.” 

Angel closed his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, keeping his face neutral and blank, but the small muscles around eyes tightened, and his eyes themselves... Wesley cleared his throat. 

“There's an old Cantuu Ka legend that during certain periods of time related to lunar cycles and uh, something like the alignment of particular planets? There are rites, blood rites, the approximation of which you may have inadvertently stumbled upon, in which the mixing of Canttu Ka blood into the bloodstream of a ovulating human causes that human to come into heat. It's described to be something like a feline heat cycle. The uh, texts, make it seem quite...” Wesley cleared his throat again and adjusted his glasses. 

Angel glowered at him.

“Um.”

“Insatiable?”

Relieved that Angel understood him, Wesley smiled. “Yes. That would be a good word for it.”

Angel frowned.

“Or, you know, not,” Wesley offered.

“It's Cordy,” Angel said, spinning on his heel. He bolted into the office and through the door to the stairs.

Heart sinking, Wesley followed him.

On the landing, he heard her, calling Angel's name, her voice as thin with fear as a child's. Out of Wesley's sight, Angel responded in a quiet, reassuring, deep murmur. Wesley slowed his descent, hitting every step rather than pelting pell-mell downward and inviting a broken ankle.

They were crouched on the bedroom floor, just outside the bathroom. Cordy's wet hair hung in her face, but she was mostly dressed, Wesley was glad to see. Arms wrapped right around her, Angel held her tight, talking her through the vision. He couldn't hear their words. It seemed intimate, this melding of themselves. Wesley didn't know where to look.

“Iron railings,” Cordy suddenly said in a louder voice. “I can't, Angel, I can't tell... they're speaking Spanish... I can't...”

Angel's soothing reply was for Cordy's ears only.

“There's a woman, older, tired, and a young boy... it's... it's an open courtyard but there's a glass ceiling, iron railings, really old-fashioned railings, twisty and turny, cage elevators...”

Wesley knew where it was, downtown. “The Bradbury Building, Angel.”

“Third and Broadway.” He stood, dragging Cordy up with him, huddled against his side. Glancing at Wesley, Angel set his lips in a straight line and scooped Cordy up in his arms. He strode to his bed and put her down. “I'll go. Take her home?”

There was a challenge in his voice, a question. 

Wesley felt perfectly capable of getting Cordelia home safely. “Of course, Angel.”

He still hesitated, and licked his lips in a gesture Wesley had come to recognize as Angel's one concession to nervousness. “Watch yourself,” he finally said.

“I'll take every precaution, Angel,” Wesley said, drawing himself up. “Go.”

“Hurry,” Cordelia added.

Angel threw her a careless glance, one loaded with heat and hunger and pain, but then Cordelia met his eyes and held him there. It took Wesley's breath away. 

Unconsciously, he stepped between them, blocking Angel's view of Cordy. If looks could kill, Wesley was quite sure he'd be dead. Using his best watcher's voice, he repeated, “Go.”

Angel shook himself, as if waking, and fled.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Leaping from the third story landing of the Bradbury Building's wrought iron courtyard staircase, Angel spread his arms and legs, spreading his weight for maximum coverage on impact. The lumpy, mustard-yellow demon below him looked up way too late. Angel grunted even before the demon's single horn pierced his belly. 

What was wrong with Cordy, anyway? Couldn't give him a heads up on the fucking horn? As he fell, the horn settling inside him, Angel flattened his hands on what passed for the demon's shoulders and drove his weight down through them, lifting his legs from the hips, arching into a back flip to minimize the damage. Dropped his damn short sword doing it.

He landed with a thud on his toes, the scent of his blood bursting into the air, and fell forward onto his knees. He got his arms up, though and shoved the demon towards the ground face first from behind as he went down. He scrabbled forward, climbing over the demon's hunched back on his hands and knees as it bucked and tried to shake him off. He snatched at his sword, scraping his fingers bloody on the rough concrete pavers under them. He kneed the demon hard between its shoulders, making it drop flat on the ground, what passed for breath burping out of it, and cuffed it on the head to keep it down. It roared. Angel rose on one foot, lifting the short sword in both hands and drove it straight down through its neck. It gurgled and flailed its arms. Angel spun up and to the side, brought the sword down again, and decapitated the ugly thing. 

Geesh. He clamped his hand over the ragged hole torn into his abdomen next to his left hip. He bent over, wondering if his pelvis was broken. The woman backed up against the old sandstone block under the staircase screamed. Angel straightened and sidestepped. Another lumpy monster stumbled by him, the weight of the wooden sledgehammer it swung at Angel's torso taking him right past his target.

Angel stepped onto his left leg, lifted his right leg and and his sword like he was preparing a devastating pitch into the Yankees offensive game and launched himself aggressively forward into the demon's space with a vicious upward angled strike. The demon's head flew off, the woman screamed bloody murder, and three Latino teens in red and black headbands came steaming into the courtyard off the street at a dead run.

Deciding he didn't have the patience for the song and dance, Angel wiped his blade on the carcass in front of him as the teens broke formation and trotted to a stop, their eyes wide. He pointed the sword at the woman and cowering little boy tucked into her skirts behind them. When they turned to see what he was showing them, he did the vamp thing and disappeared without speaking.

Out on Broadway, he dropped to a normal pace in the shadow near a maple, between streetlights, and re-assessed his side. He wasn't gushing blood, just leaking at a steady pace. He flexed his fingers, cracking the dried blood across his knuckles. He'd live. 

Dropping his free hand in his coat pocket as he walked, he fingered his phone. He should call Wesley. He should go back home, clean up, see what research needed doing. Did Wesley know how long Cordy's heat would last? Cordy. That look, her skin, heat and musk rising from her. He hadn't yet managed to pack away the desires the Oden Tal princess, Jhiera, had raised in him the week before; he couldn't risk being drawn to Cordy.

His car was parked three blocks over. By the time he fell into the driver's seat, he was through arguing with himself. He started the car and pulled out onto the road. He resolved to call Wesley after he was showered and patched and see what Wes needed from him. 

***

“Wesley,” Cordelia wheedled from the inside of her apartment door. “It's okay, you can come sit inside, I won't bother you.”

Wesley's kiss swollen lips and still-ready-to-perform body did not agree with her. He sat out in her building's hallway, back against her door, long legs stretched in front of him, leafing through two of the three books he 'd grabbed from Angel's shelves to search for information on her condition. The first page of his note pad held three half-sentences and a concept bubble with two spokes. 

“Dennis, unlock this door, right now!” Cordelia demanded. 

“Cordelia, it's...” Wesley consulted his watch. “Oh, no! It's almost ten-thirty. If I'm going to get the reference I need from Hui-xi, I need to go.” 

“I'll go with you,” Cordy said.

“No, you won't,” Wesley said firmly. Hui-xi was a Tacjic, his appearance very human if he so chose, and he would definitely find Cordelia to be a fine choice in playmates. “Besides, Hiu-xi is shy. And he looks like a giant green slug. Dennis?”

Dennis knocked three times, their pre-arranged code. 

“No one in. Or out. Alright?”

Apparently in enthusiastic agreement, Dennis thumped the door so hard it rattled.

***

Angel stalked into the elevator in his apartment, slammed the door to and hit the button. As it rose, he tried Wesley again. No answer. He'd showered, fed (he was still angry at himself for puncturing the bags and draining them rather than pouring the blood into a glass), slapped a sterile pad over his gut, poured Jamison's over his knuckles and then two shots into himself, dressed, and called Wesley five times already. He shoved the door aside and surveyed the dark, empty office. 

It still smelled of coffee and Cordelia. He ignored the faint, lingering spice of Wesley. 

He considered calling Cordelia, but if Wesley was there with her... Angel shook his head. So what. Wesley was human and safe and if it helped ease Cordy until they could cure her... What if Wesley wasn't there, what if something had come up, what if Cordy had found someone completely unsuitable to scratch her itch, someone like that scumbag who had impregnated her with demonspawn? His hand hurt. When he opened it to find out why, he found his keys.

In minutes, he was speeding down Los Feliz Boulevard, on the way to Cordy's.

***

Flat on her back, knees bent, Cordelia stretched her arms above her head, held the stretch for ten seconds and then lifted the ten pound barbells straight up, holding them above her face. She crunched her stomach muscles tight and lifted her body in a full sit up, reaching between her knees with the barbells. Slowly she sank back down. Sweat trickled down her temple as she hit the floor again and slowly lowered the barbells over her head.

“Cordelia,” Angel shouted, beating on her door in the same instance.

Screeching in surprise, she dropped the barbells and flung herself upward, heart slamming in her chest. “Geesh, Angel,” she yelled back. “What's your damage?”

Her neighbor's light popped on, throwing a shroud of light that brightened her window. Cordelia rolled her eyes as Angel shouted, “Are you alone?”

She stomped to the door, only not really, because she had a downstairs neighbor, too. 

“Cordy?”

“Shhh, Angel, someone's gonna call 911.”

“Okay,” he said in a lowered voice that still carried. “I couldn't get Wesley, I was worried.”

“He went to meet Hui-Xi,” Cordy said in explanation. Although she had yet to meet him, she knew Hui-Xi lived in a metal warehouse at a confluence of concrete tunnels on the power grid. Reception was nearly impossible within a four block radius of him. Plus he was majorly chatty, according to Wesley.

“How are you?”

“Better. You must've gotten the dem... bad guys,” she corrected, wondering if her upstairs neighbor could hear.

“I did,” Angel said, his voice dropping so low, she could hardly hear him. 

She imagined the rumble of his voice traveling her nerves from her most sensitive spot, which suddenly felt heavy with warmth. And moist. She pressed herself against the door. It was cool on her bare legs, and on her midriff above her shorts and below her tank top, which kept riding up. 

“What about your other...problem?”

“Better,” she lied. “I think it's over.” 

Dennis thumped the door three times, hard.

The neighbor beside Cordelia opened his door and, based on the volume of his voice, leaned out into the hallway, pissed. “Either go in or go away, but shut the fuck up.”

“Let me in,” Angel said.

Dennis thumped the door, only once, but it reverberated through the hall, ricocheting his objection into the night.

“Hey, Missy” The neighbor said loudly, talking to Cordelia. “You need me to call the cops for you?”

“Look, pal,” Angel said as Cordy shouted, “No, I'm good,” and Dennis kicked the door with a resounding thud, thud, thud while unlocking it.

Cordelia poked her head out. The thick-chested bald man, wearing a ratty robe, was standing out on his pitiful brown door mat, his phone in his hand. “Sorry,” she said and yanked on Angel's arm. Angel sketched a wave while lifting one side of his mouth in a snarl that Cordy was sure he meant as a smile, and let her haul him in. He turned, shut the door with unnecessary force, and locked it again. 

After a second, the neighbor's door shut, too. 

Dennis swirled around Angel, lifting his hair and tugging at his clothes. Angel batted at him as he moved into the room. “Stop it, Dennis, what choice did I have?”

“Dennis,” Cordy hissed. “It's just Angel.”

The wind dropped, but Dennis flicked fast through all the cable channels on the TV, and then the radio in the kitchen came on, running through all the stations. Both died in the same instant. The sudden silence was an assault on Cordy's ears. 

“He's gone,” Cordy said into the hollowness of Dennis's absence. “It'll take him awhile to sulk and recharge.”

Angel drew in a deep breath and then bent over, pressing his hand to his left side.

“Angel,” Cordy said, alarmed at the increased pallor of his skin.

“Just a twinge,” he croaked. “You could've warned me about the horn.”

“The horn?” Cordelia squeaked. A flood of hot, hot, hot sped along her veins and arteries.

Angel peered up at her, his eyes flashing. “Yeah,” he said. It seemed like he'd say more, but he didn't. Her skin burned beneath the pass of his smoldering gaze. He closed his eyes and let his head hang. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Cordy thought she might implode right there. She pressed her legs together, and closed her lips on the moan that nearly escaped. “I'll just... go get the first aid... 

“Done,” Angel sighed. He uncoiled, careful not to look at her.

Holding herself taut, she quivered with the need to touch him. Her nipples ached, wanting the smooth slide of his tongue, the pull of his teeth, the tug of his mouth on her breast. Her breasts, heavy and oh... Cordy forced her fingers from their kneading. The tips brushed across her hardened peaks and she gasped, her hips following the lowering of her hands in a rolling undulation that felt like melting.

“Bedroom. Lock the door. Whatever you need to do, do it, but don't come back out here. And don't let me in.” He looked up and for the first time, fear trickled through the haze of her need, her want, her heat. “No matter what I say. Don't let me in.”

Afraid to open her mouth, afraid of what she might say, afraid of the way the tide of his body called to the currents of her desire despite her fear of him, she backed away. Two steps, three. Angel stepped towards her, one step. Two. Cordy spun and ran into her room, fell against the door, and locked it. Fat lot of good that'd do. 

Her dresser. Too heavy. Chest of drawers. She shoved and tugged, reveling in the pull and stretch of her muscles. Finally wrestling it into place against the door, she pushed her heated, needy body against the hard, uncomfortable chest. One of the drawer knobs dug into the soft hollow just above her pubic bone. Closing her eyes, she rolled onto the balls of her feet, seeking, just a little higher, on her tip-toes, the knob slid over her clit, and oh my god... Her head tipped back, Cordy rocked her hips, letting the knob work for her. She groaned. Oh, god, oh god. And then she remembered.

She dropped down, her heart racing. Bottom drawer, bottom drawer. She yanked it open, hoping it still worked, that the batteries weren't dead. Dug under the sweaters. Where was it? At the back, her fingers found the cool, soft squish of the vibrator Selena had given her as a joke. She'd only used it a couple of times, faintly embarrassed by her need when it was over.

She yanked it from the drawer, thumbing the power button. Nothing. Although she'd already tried to break the Canttu Ka heat with the manual version of self-love, Cordy fell back onto her carpet with a moan, her fingers already sliding into her shorts. She lifted her legs, wanting... something... Her bare feet found the chest and she braced against it, the carpet rubbing rough on the skin of her back, holding her steady. So what if it wouldn't vibrate, the vibrator would still penetrate, and she needed that, needed it right now, she pressed her fingers down onto her swollen clit, her thighs going tight, and began. Again.

***

Wesley shifted, the vibration of his motorcycle doing nothing for his turgid state of latent desire. Gritting his teeth together, he tried to divert his attention, but when all his thoughts involved, must involve, analyzing Cordelia's situation to find a solution, how could he not be aware of his own stimulation?

Hui-Xi's information, mostly comprised of data drawn from fictionalized accounts, pseudo-science, and conjecture, wasn't promising. Still, they had cobbled together a plan of sorts. He had two texts to collect, and since he didn't think opening Cordelia's apartment door for any reason was a good idea, he'd have to have a sensitive conversation with her. By phone. No way he was shouting that theory through her door. He needed to return Angel's calls, tell him it would be prudent for him to leave the solving of this case to Wesley.

Wesley hadn't liked the look of Angel. Maybe some aspect of the demon in him was taking too big an interest in Cordelia's... changing physiology. There, that was a good term. Cordelia's changing physiology. 

And there was the shop he needed. It was still open, thank the lord, although he had half hoped it wouldn't be. This confrontation would be far from pleasant, but he would manage it. He was after all, Wesley Wyndham Pryce, and his friend was mired in desperate straits. Wesley turned his front wheel hard and skidded into the sparsely populated lot of XTC Escorts.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Torn between retreating to the farthest corner of the living room from Cordy as he could manage and his raging desire to get as close to her as possible, Angel ended up hunkered down against the interior hallway wall adjacent to the kitchen doorway. Dennis was an icy cold spot to his right, a laughable attempt at blocking his further movement in that direction. Beyond him, they could both hear Cordy's ragged breathing, the whine that escaped her, her whispered curses. 

Angel covered his head with his arms, and breathed through his mouth to dampen her damning scent, but then her taste teased his tongue, too faint for true flavor, too strong for him to ignore. Something, some piece of furniture she'd moved, clunked against the bedroom door, bouncing it in its frame. Angel clenched his hands into fists and filled his ears by humming tunelessly.

Dennis swirled by and the kitchen radio clicked on. Static resolved itself into a discordant noise with the screeching scale of an electric guitar threaded through it. Angel concentrated on it, willing himself to focus. It was turned low enough not to disturb anyone, but almost too loud for Angel's sharp hearing. The notes thinned as he picked out the individual instruments, letting them form separate swirls in his head before merging them. When the drums burst in with a long roll and hard, sustained rhythm, Angel let the music beat into him like a wild, living heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered as Dennis slipped past to cover the hall once more. 

***

“Welcome to XTC,” the blonde receptionist greeted Wesley after buzzing him though the outer door. “Can I help you?”

The office took up the better part of the tiny building. Alt rock played on low volume from speakers in the ceiling. Behind her slim line, nearly bare desk, there were two couches sitting perpendicular to each other, a coffee table in front of them strewn with guides of LA and the latest celebrity magazines. Fresh arrangement. Broken only by a closed door, the back wall and two side walls contained racks holding eight by tens of beautiful people. Of all ages, Wesley noted, several gray haired escorts catching his eye.

“Sir?”

“Yes, of course,” Wesley said, seeing no immediate danger. “Are you alone here?” he added, thinking it curious that she would be, at midnight off the Sunset Strip.

In response, her fingers settled just below the edge of her desk. He wondered if she was concealing a weapon there, but then the rear door opened and a formidable looking man came through it.

“Just curious, you understand,” Wesley explained. He waved towards the parking lot. “Late out, off the Strip-”

“Can we help you,” the woman repeated, her lips tight.

“Yes, yes, I hope so. I need an escort.”

She flipped a page on the large appointment book laying open on the desk, drawing a pen from behind her ear at the same time. “Date?”

“Um, now?”

“We generally book two days in advance.”

Wesley looked around the room, again, this time noticing a small bar built into the corner to his right, mini-fridge, sink. Wine glasses hanging from a rack. He turned a slight frown on and cleared his throat. “I'm willing to pay handsomely.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.”

She appraised him. “Brunette, built, butch?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your escort.”

“Oh.” Wesley considered the description. Cordelia had taken a liking to him, at one time, and to Angel, too, though she had admitted an infatuation for Chad Michael Murray, who was blonde. 

She raised her brows. “He's available to meet you in half an hour.”

Yes, the sooner the better. “That would be peachy,” he said, smiling.

She blinked.

“Could he meet me elsewhere?”

“Yes, if he agrees. Dress?”

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of function will you be attending?”

Wesley, aware that the large man across the room was advancing on this fumbling transaction and worried he'd put an end to it, threw his shoulders back and straightened his back, rising to his full height. “Business Casual. My friend and I have accepted a last minute invitation to a record producer's home in celebration of a new release.” He gave her his toothiest grin, tilting his head, pretending sheepishness. “I'm told the party doesn't really start until after midnight. We were hoping to make our entrance around one?” 

“You have a friend going, why do you need an escort?” The large man asked in a smoky baritone.

“Not me,” Wesley corrected. “My friend, um, Lilly? I'm meeting someone at the party. She doesn't want to be... hit on? She needs a date.”

“Right,” the receptionist said in a tone he didn't quite understand. Americans. “Will Peter still do?”

“Peter? The...”

“Tall, dark, and handsome, yes.”

“Yes, of course. Peter. Do you take credit cards?”

For the first time, the receptionist's smile reached her eyes. She was exceptionally pretty. Gracefully, she opened the desk's middle drawer, slid a form in front of him, handed him her pen and took his credit card. “Any additional arrangements you may need to make with Peter will need to be paid in cash.”

The large man grunted and left.

“This address, please, in half an hour?” Wesley said, writing Cordelia's address down on the bottom of the customer information and liability release card.

“He'll be there,” she said brightly, and handed him his receipt. 

His stomach flipped when he registered the amount. Think of Cordelia, he told himself. This is for her.

And hopefully, Angel would reimburse him later. 

***

The vibration-buzz of Angel's phone startled him. He jumped up, patting his pockets. His music-lulled senses shot immediately in Cordy's direction, but she was quiet. He punched at too many of the buttons and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Angel?” Wesley shouted.

Angel winced. “Here.”

“I'm glad your demon slaying was successful,” Wesley said, sounding calmer. “Hui-Xi had useful information and I've developed a plan.”

“Good.”

“I need you to search Diamond's Lexicon and the Gyuiom, looking for references to the Canttu Ka and  
a certain herb they may or may not have used.”

Angel rubbed the back of his neck.

“Angel?”

“Okay, yes, I can do that. How long, Wesley?”

“Oh, it shouldn't take you more than...”

“No, Wes, how long will she be in heat?”

“Until she ovulates.”

“And when will that be?”

A horn bleeped and the motor of Wesley's bike revved and dropped and revved again before Wesley spoke. “Angel. She has to have intercourse. Actual intercourse. A cat, for example, can be artificially stimulated. Apparently the biochemical elements of the Cantuu Ka heat are much more complicated. And sensitive.”

Angel groaned. He leaned back on the wall and let his knees collapse until he was sitting on the floor.

“I think it's best,” Wesley continued, “if you stay at the office. I'm on my way to Cordelia's now.”

He didn't mean to, the growl just slid out of him. She already smelled of Wesley, though Angel also knew it hadn't gone far. Now, Wesley was returning to finish the job. 

“Angel?”

Angel punched buttons on the phone until it went dark and set it down on the floor, his hand shaking.

***

Through the pillow Cordy was holding over her face, she heard her phone beep. She reached for it blindly, but then tossed the pillow down as she answered it. “Yes?”

“I'm on my way, Cordelia, I think I have a solution,” Wesley said. Wind in his microphone distorted his voice. “I have to pick up a couple of things. I'll call back when I arrive.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“You are at home, aren't you, Cordelia?”

She sighed. “Yes, Wesley, I am.”

“Angel's at the office, researching.”

Cordy sat up. “What?”

“Angel's researching. We'll have this figured out in no time, Cordelia.”

“Okay,” she said. The line went dead. “Bye.”

“Angel,” Cordelia called out, as loud as she dared.

Dennis blew her hair back off her face. 

“Hi, Dennis,” she said. “Angel still here?”

“Fine, don't answer me,” she told the silence in her room. “Angel?”

“Cordy,” Angel said from just outside her door. 

Her skin flushed. She groaned and flopped backward into the soft nest of her bed.

“Let me in.”

His voice was silk on her skin. Colored, one hundred percent, four hundred dollars a yard silk.

“Let me in.”

Heat surged into her limbs. She twisted, sliding along the sheets, feeling his hands glide over her. 

“Cordelia.”

Tugging at her tank, she stripped it off.

She touched her nipples, rolled them between her fingers. And moaned, her back arching off the bed as wetness pooled between her legs

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

One hand flat on her door, Cordy's heat radiating right through it, Angel let go. Cut the tether he'd chained to his darker side when she'd shown up at the office hot and wet already. He wished he'd swept Wesley aside and taken her then. And again and again. 

He shivered as Dennis enveloped him. Impossibly, he grew harder, found the cold stimulating, rising the hair on his neck and arms. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it, taking a deep breath of the frigid air. Cordy's intoxicating desire rushed into his mouth and nose and lungs. He laid his other hand against the door and rested his forehead between them. “Cordelia. Let me in.”

He heard her. Heard her breath catch, the low moan as she stood, her swollen secret pulsing. He tracked her heartbeat as she came to him. He dropped his hand to the knob, and rattled the lock on the strike plate. “I want you, let me in.”

She was standing, making no attempt to move whatever she'd used to block the door. “No,” she said. “You said...”

“Don't let me in.”

She drew in a breath that was almost a sob. Her heartbeat sped up. Angel saw her hands on her belly, on the lift of her hips. He turned the knob, breaking the lock with a twist of his wrist at just the right moment. Dropping it, he leaned into the door, soaking her up.

Her beat drifted closer to him, and then she was pushing at whatever. The urge to shove at the door, knock the blockade over was overwhelming. He shook with the effort not to, not to hurt her accidently. Not to scare her. The door eased inward as the furniture slid and bumped aside. Angel put his shoulder to the door and pushed. When it gave, he stumbled through. 

Heat hit him, Cordy, naked in his arms. He spun, trying to keep them both upright and still touch her everywhere. His momentum carried them into the bed. He hit it with the back of his knees and folded, spilling them down into heaven.

On his back, drunk with need, head spinning, he wrapped his fingers in her hair, gripped her hip with the other hand, and held her still. She writhed against him.

“Cordy.”

She tore at his shirt with both hands, her face buried in his neck, her teeth teasing, her hot, little tongue darting out to taste him. His shirt split, the buttons flying.

He jerked on her hair, pulling her mouth away from him. “Cordy. Look at me.”

Her eyes were huge, her pupils blown wide. He was drawn to her mouth, her full lips slightly parted. 

“I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry for this.” 

“Kiss me,” she whispered. 

He relaxed his fingers, and kissed her softly, but then drew back. When she looked at him this time, she actually saw him. Sitting up, he settled her squarely on his erection, groaning as she wrapped her legs around his waist and snugged down on him, her wetness seeping through his slacks. He kissed her again; opened his mouth over hers and slid his tongue in, tickling the roof of her mouth, tasting her, sucking her tongue into his mouth when she thrust it over his.

He ran his hands over her shoulders and back, caught her long hair up. Stroked her neck, so strong, so tender. Her bottom filled his hands. She rocked her pelvis forward, and he broke their kiss, open mouthed, tilting his head back as everything he was spiraled down to his groin, her heat, the tight, hidden cleft straddling his nearly painful hardness as she rode him.

More. Now. Wanted her skin on his.

She was burning up. Hot sweat slicked her skin. Lifting her, he stood, turning, and laid her back down. He shed his ruined shirt. Cordy's hands stroked her belly, moving down while she watched him. Angel unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Cordy's fingers slid into the soft, trimmed thatch that hid her center from him. She spread her legs, opening herself. Angel ran his zipper down and fell to his knees, reaching for her. He dug his fingers into the backs of her thighs. She flexed and tightened under his touch. Her strength excited him; her power poured into his hands and spread with an electric hum that deafened him. 

Angel tugged her closer to the edge of the bed, slid his arm under one thigh, and dropped his thumb onto her own massaging fingers. He pressed them down harder into the soft pocket of her mound and circled them, a sharp thrill zinging through his cock when she arched and thrust up into their joined hands. Reaching to untie his boots with his free hand, his face dipped low over her. He blew air over her wet folds, and she groaned, her hips bouncing up. 

Wriggling, to get rid of his boots and yank his pants and boxers down one handed, he licked her. 

Cordelia. Unadulterated. 

She squealed. He groaned, and held her down. Her heels hit his shoulders. Kicking his ankles free, he grabbed her thighs in both hands and drove his tongue into her. He lapped at her, shifting upward to suck on her clit, both hands now flat across her jumping belly. She thrashed. Both her hands hit his head, boxed his ear. He bit her with blunt teeth and she gasped, and grabbed and held him against her, thrusting into his torture. She twisted, crying out in little breathy whines and then froze, every muscle taut, begging for release. 

Angel let go of her. A scream of frustration ripped from her throat. Fighting up, she snarled at him, but he only laughed and attacked her, wrapping her up in his arms, his skin grateful for the press of her soft breasts on his chest. He threw her back down, his weight carrying them farther up the bed. She drew her knees up and he buried himself in her with one hard thrust. Locked together, finally, their bodies held them still, absorbing their completeness. Angel felt Cordy's chest hitch, just before the salt of her tears reached him. 

He tried to lift his chest from hers, but she held him, shaking her head. “No, don't move,” she whispered. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

Her voice rippled through his muscles. His balls drew up. She clenched around him. He had to move, had to... he shifted, rocked his hips. 

Exploding into motion under him, Cordy threw her head back. Her feet dug into his calves, and then slid onto the bed as she fought for traction, her hips pistoning. “Fuck me, Fuck me, fuck me...” she cried. 

He kissed her throat, bit down, and thrust up. She hit him. “Fuck me,” she pleaded. He did it again, faster, and again. Pulled further out, feeling her tighten on him, closing up as he withdrew, and then thrust back in hard, tearing back into her hot slick. She met him thrust for thrust. He fucked her the best way he knew how, and covered her mouth when she came, swallowing her scream and his blood when she bit his lip, shuddering under him. And when he pushed into her tight, tight, hot, one more time, he pulsed hard- so deep inside, throbbing - she came again, came apart. 

It scared her. 

He held her while she cried. 

***

“What's that,” she said into his neck. God, could she even move? Her every muscle was heavy, lax, satiated, that horrible wanting finally satisfied.

Angel rolled, taking her with him, so she lay on top of him. Her stomach looped. He was still inside her. She wiggled her hips lower, seating him more firmly. God, he was still hard, or hard again. She circled her pelvis. Moisture oozed from her as she throbbed around him. She couldn't catch her breath, her desire shot through her so fast. 

He groaned, his hands sliding to her bottom and stopped her. “Your phone,” he said through clenched teeth. She opened her eyes. His were screwed up tight. “Wesley.”

She shifted, trying to reach the phone without untangling herself from him, but he deftly moved her off him, scooting in the opposite direction. She sighed and rolled, landing on her belly, stretching her arm out to grab her phone from the floor next to the bed.

“Yes?”

“I'm here, Cordelia, just outside. I knocked, but...”

“I was in the shower.”

“Oh, of course. Exercising didn't...”

“No, it didn't.”

Angel snorted, softly.

Cordy sat up. Already, the heat was curling inside, launching its reserves.

“Cordelia, I need to ask you a rather personal question.”

Having to discuss her sex life with Wesley was something she couldn't have imagined when he first showed up in LA. Now it was, like, a weekly affair. “Shoot.”

“Do you own any, ah, means of artificial stimulation?”

“Sex toys?”

“Er, yes, exactly.”

“Been there, tried that.”

“Good.”

“What's good about that, Wesley?” she said, irritated with his cryptic, with the fullness between her legs, the swirl of desire crouching in her belly, Angel rustling behind her, zipping things away that she needed.

“It means my information is probably correct. And I have a solution that will work.”

Her skin was buzzing. She trailed her fingers in figure eights across her breasts. “I'll let you in,” she said, rising.

Angel was suddenly there, inches from her, in just his pants, blocking her way. He shook his head as Wesley said “No,” in her ear. 

“No?” she said to both of them.

“When the solution arrives, I'll knock.”

Angel was staring at her hand, his eyes following along its path. He pursed his lips and blew. Her nipples peaked.

“My neighbor,” she stuttered. “Wasn't happy earlier. With you and Dennis.”

“I'll call, then.”

“Okay,” she said. She hit End and let Angel take the phone from her as he leaned in and captured her mouth with his.

***

Pacing back to Cordy's door from his view of the parking spots, Wesley checked his watch again. The escort should have been there already.

He fished his phone from his pocket again and dialed Angel.

It rang three times and went to voicemail, Cordy's voice asking for a message. Wes called Angel's cell. It rang three times and went to voicemail, Cordy's voice saying not to bother leaving a message. Wes hit redial. Angel answered on the second ring.

“What?” 

Wesley was sure he'd never heard anyone put so much meaning in a single word as Angel did on a regular basis.

“Angel,” he said, to prime himself. Angel's brusqueness, while it meant little in Wesley's limited experience with Angel's moods, could still make him lose his thought. “Has the Lexicon or Gyuiom yielded any useful information?”

“No.” 

Which is exactly what Wesley expected Angel to say, given that he was on a wild goose chase designed to occupy him. “Could you skim Cooper's?”

There was a long pause. Wesley thought he could hear faint music, not the sort that Angel usually played. Angel made some small noise, a sudden intake or exhale of breath, maybe. “Are you...”

“I stubbed my toe, Wesley. The Cooper's?”

“Yes, and perhaps...”

“Harker's, The Comprehensive Guide to European Demon Species, Mythology and The Origin of Monsters, Lee Hale's Essays on Demon Lore? Yeah, Wesley, I've, uh... looked...”

“What are you doing exactly?”

“Heavy bag,” Angel grunted.

“Ah,” Wesley allowed. Probably a wise choice on Angel's part. At least he hadn't shown up here, yet, to check on Cordelia.

“Excuse me,” a man said. 

Wesley turned. A man who looked remarkably like Angel, except for the blue eyes, stubble, and actual sense of fashion, stood at the top of the stairway.

“Are you Mr. Pryce?” 

“I've got to go, Angel,” Wesley said, nodding at Peter, he presumed. “I'll call again in an hour or so. I, uh, may need you to meet me with, um, cash?” That should be plenty of time to see if my theory pans out, he thought. Peter's nose was narrower than Angel's, his lips thinner. Still, Cordy should be quite pleased with his selection.

“Bye, Wes,” Angel said.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

On the move, Angel fumbled the phone and it disappeared under Cordy.

“Fuck,” she said and pushed her hands down, raising up on all fours. She shifted back, searching for the phone, which brought her back onto to him.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Yes,” Cordy breathed.

She found the phone and tossed it. It smacked into the bedroom wall and fell to the ground.

***

“So,” Peter said, glancing around. “No party here. Is this your place?”

“Not exactly,” Wesley said. The full import of his actions hit him all at once. He looked down, his cheeks lighting up. 

“You're blushing,” Peter whispered, grinning. He leaned forward. “I think that's cute.”

Wesley snapped his head up. 

Peter's gleaming eyes met his. “My arrangements are flexible,” he confided. He reached out and patted Wesley's shoulders. “Some escorts don't play that way.” His hands moved down, briskly frisking Wesley's chest and back before he could step away.

“No,” Wesley huffed as Peter's hands hit his hips. “You don't...”

Peter lifted his leg and knocked Wesley's knees apart, placing his foot down between Wesley's feet before he could object. His hands stroked Wesley's buttocks and brushed across his fly and moved onto his thighs. 

“What...”

Peter's hands patted as he bent. Peter stooping, his breath hot on Wesley's crotch. “Being arrested's a bitch for me, and entrapment's also a bitch...” His fingers stroked Wesley's ankles and he stood. Too close, his eyes tracing Wesley's lips. Wesley's tongue darted out without his permission, wetting his dry, astounded lips. Peter chuckled. “But not for you.” He lifted his hand.

Stunned, Wesley only frowned at it. 

Peter carefully stroked one finger down his cheek. “What can I do for you?” 

“Uh, not me. I, uh,... Cordelia needs, a, um...”

Peter dropped his hand and stepped back, out of Wesley's personal space. Wesley drew a deep breath, his chest as tight as if he'd been underwater for a year. 

“Cordelia?” Peter said.

“Yes. She's in need of a, uh, gigolo?

Peter laughed. And then he lifted his chin and really laughed, a full body roar.

“Shhh,” Wesley tried. “Peter,” he hissed.

The next apartment door down the hall yawned open. A stout, bald man in a blue terry robe stepped onto the coconut welcome mat in front of it. “I've had enough of the bullshit tonight, guys,” he said in what Wesley thought was a remarkably even voice. “I don't know what your business is here with that Cordelia chick, but I suggest you take it elsewhere.” He held up his cordless phone. “Or else.”

Wesley drew himself up, thoroughly humiliated. “We will, sorry to have disturbed you.” He strode past Peter and thank god, Peter turned, still chuffing, choking for air, his eyes tearing, and followed him.

***

“Guh,” Cordy huffed.

Angel wanted to agree with her, but he was too winded.

They were side by side, spread-eagled on the bedroom floor. Angel lifted his arm, grabbed his balled up boxers and slacks, jerked them from under his head and whipped them away. From him. His head dropped flat onto the carpet. Much better.

“I need...” Cordy said.

“Uh-huh,” Angel said, shaking his head. He felt done for. Dead.

“...to pee,” she finished.

Angel closed his eyes.

***

Out in the parking lot, Peter spread his arms apart, palms out, fingers spread. “I don't do girls, dude. Sorry.”

***

“Hmmm?” Angel said into his phone. 

“My plan didn't go as... well, as planned,” Wesley sputtered into his ear.

“That's...” okay. Can't say that. “Why don't we re-group in the morning, Wesley. Is Cordy okay for the night?”

“I think so. I'll ring her and let her know. I hope she doesn't...”

“Take your head off?” Angel grinned, listening to Cordy start the shower. “She's young, Wesley. She has a sharp tongue, but being in lust never killed anyone.”

“You're right, Angel,” Wesley said. “Just the same, I think I'll keep watch tonight.”

“I'll come.”

A spectacularly bad idea, in Wesley's opinion. “No, Angel. One of us needs to be clear headed tomorrow.” 

Steam rolled down the hall in Cordy's wake. 'Shower,' she mouthed down at him, looking just... spectacularly edible. 

“I hate to think what state she may be in by then.”

Comatose with satisfaction, Angel hoped. “Call me if anything comes up.”

“Like this?” Cordy whispered, kneeling next to him on the floor. She licked him, swirling her tongue around and over, bringing him back to useful life. He palmed her head, lifting his hips, and bit his lip when she opened her mouth and took him in. Still, heat radiated off her, but it seemed to him residual, already her scent was cooling, separating, simplifying into recognizable components.

“I will,” Wesley said, startling him.

“Ah...okay. See you?” Oh, god. Angel's fingers flexed, closing on Cordy's hair, but he managed not to damage her, or the phone... “Tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Angel,” Wesley sighed, sounding defeated.

Cordy pulled off him, kissed along his shaft, and turned her head to watch him watching her. “I guess I'll prove his theory wrong tomorrow? Tell him the Canttu Ka legend is wrong? It only lasted a day?”

Angel crushed the phone in his fist, dropped the pieces, and reached for her. 

He dragged her up his body, flipped them over, trapped her wrists above her head and took her. Fast and hard. Drove his loneliness, his pain, his guilt, his love- god, he wanted love- into her, into her body and heart, drove his imprint into her very cells, her soul, and let her brand him in return. 

Angel let go and loved her with all his being, for just one night.

 

 


End file.
